


Routine

by Souja



Category: BIRDMEN - 田辺イエロウ | Tanabe Yellow
Genre: Character-centric, Gen, Inspired by kit's fic Heartsong which you should read a billion times over, Stream of Consciousness, Thought Barf, Uhm, idk what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 18:33:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11190912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Souja/pseuds/Souja
Summary: It's night time.





	Routine

**.Routine.**

_\--_

_Something's missing._

_\--_

 

“ _So then Tatsuyama-chan starts Freaking. Out. And Mizobuchi-san tries putting out the fire…”_

“ _I remember that! I remember that!”_   Kamoda’s laugh echoed down his back, boomed from phantom corners of his room, “ _and then the transfer kid--what was his name?”_

“ _Peter!”_   Sagisawa snorted, somehow still dignified despite the wheezing breath he’d taken, “ _From Canada, right?”_

A hacked laugh-cough from Kamoda before he continued, his portion of the story peppered by giggles, “ _Peter!”_

Their cackles danced on the hairs of his neck, their happiness a languid warmth that stole away his breath, packaged it neatly and replaced it with honey. Eishi dutifully scratched along the lined paper with details from the day--namely the duration of the tweet messages, and the progress of plan “Stealth Bird” (read: trying to enhance specific body parts without transforming fully). Though his friends  _claimed_ they were catching him up on things missed in early elementary--

“ _And then, when the principal got involved and it got--”_

“ _\--All over Mizobuchi’s purse!”_

\--he doubted _they’d_ remember that anytime soon.

But he relaxed into their chatter. It filled the empty space of his room till he was swathed with phantom noises. This happened often. This was routine. He was happy.

It began with Rei’s awakening as a means of relaying pleas for homework. When he outlawed it (Takayama, don't deliver his messages. Kamoda, _do your own homework._ Sagisawa _stop laughing you’re encouraging them)_ , they stuck mostly to notices about meetings. Actual chatter happened during the day, where they could text instantly and meet whenever and speak freely without the language barrier.

Then Kamoda had awakened and it happened more frequently. A stray comment before bed time would set them on tangents that chased time away. Takayama acted translator for the unawakened Umino, or she’d respond in text.

But Umino was awakened now. Fully capable of sending her own trilled tweets to join almost-nightly communications. He wondered, idly, if Takayama knew. Next time they broadcasted to the jackass, he’d mention it.

 _Next time_ , added a bitter swirl to the thought stew, _he’d better answer or.. or.._.

Eishi wrinkled his nose and wondered when his pencil had snapped. He frowned, returned it to his stationary cup in exchange for another, pressing lighter on it this time.  

Their chatter died down minutes later and, he was right, though he did not say it. The topic changed to the absence of blue-swathed thoughts, “ _Any word from Tsubame-chan?”_

Sagisawa hummed, contemplative, “ _None. Maybe something’s come up?”_

“ _You think we can leave her a voice message, like on a phone?”_ A pause as it was considered, “ _Eichan, don’t answer me!”_

Eishi scoffed, his eyes peeling over the last sentences he’d written, “ _Trust me, I wasn’t going to anyway.”_

His mind erupted with a mock-offended guffaw from Kamoda, a firecracker of laughter from Sagisawa. Relaxation rolled down his shoulders and Eishi slid back in the chair till he was comfortable once more, his legs balanced on the top of his table. The papers underneath shifted. For a moment he was tempted to just destroy them.

“ _She’ll be here,”_   he assured idly, interjecting somewhere between Kamoda’s third attempt to make a voice message and Sagisawa’s facetious goading, “ _She’s probably already here. Isn’t that right, Umino?”_

He was actually shocked when she replied. Her laughter belled in his ears, the sound cascading from the ceiling like a light drizzle of rain, “ _Busted.”_

Ever excitable, Kamoda gasped, _"This whole time?”_

Umino responded with a pride that bloomed on the edges of her voice, “ _Yep! But…,”_ she switched to a lower, more concerned hush. A chill skirted on his arms as her anxiety leaked through his skin, “ _he’s a little shy about this.”_

Eishi faltered. 

 _We can do it another time_ ,one part offered. Or maybe not at all--a protective bubble perished the thought of accidentally hurting the kid or worse yet, accidentally stumbling on some not-so-ancient birdman secret. 

It hung there a moment, chasing their collective butterflies ragged. Sagisawa chirped a reassuring warmth to counteract it. “ _Then we should get on it, right?”_

Tsubame returned with relief and gratitude, “ _Right.”_

This.

This was not routine.

This was new, actually. Born of an accident one night when Umino had gripped her brothers’ hand to stop him from falling.

According to her, he'd come to her room the very next morning. She'd busied with her bag, unaware of what was happening. He’d been worried about her hiding a boy, in that over-serious way of his. There'd been an anxious promise to keep her secret--he didn't get it, not really, but if she was at  _that age_ then he wouldn't tell their parents. It plagued her till lunch when she realised, finally, what boy she’d been ‘hiding’.

Her eyes had trained forward while she spoke. Frustration pursed her lips and upset her stomach. They listened despite the sympathy pains.

Kamoda, the culprit, had chirped praises once she'd finished and, well,

“ _He's ready!”_

Eishi dropped his legs, adjusting to the new presence. He felt it in the winged tattoo, heard it as it  whispered from the fringes of his mind. Inaudible in comparison to the voices he was accustomed to.

_Not the same--Foreign?_

He shook the thought from his mind when it almost classified him as a threat.

“ _Am I doing it right? I can't hear anything.”_

_Nervous._

_Curious._

_Strange--Familiar?_

“ _You’re doing fine! You can hear my voice, can’t you?”_

“ _But you’re right here! It doesn’t count!”_

The child’s nervousness ebbed away slightly as he chattered with his sister. It felt strange, but Eishi grew accustomed to the presence. _Friend,_ some part of him noted, _Different, but Friend._

“ _Karasuma-san is here, right?”_ shy, uncertain, but incredibly warm.

“ _Eichan! He’s summoning you!”_

_Confusion._

_Excitement._

“ _T-that’s the Cat Guy! He’s here too?!”_

“ _Yup!”_ Umino’s laughter was fond, exploded in burst of warmth in his chest, his stomach, “ _Kamochan, say hi!”_

“ _Hi!”_

A beat of surprise sent his thoughts spasming. A starstruck moment passed before he recovered, “ _Hello! I’m Umino Shouma!”_ sent the kid, all manners and bubbles.

“ _Kamoda! Great meeting you!”_

The brightest flicker of pleasure, “ _Likewise!”_  

“ _Karasuma-kun, now is probably your turn to join in.”_

A cloud of uncertainty. “ _Who’s that, sis?”_

“ _Evening, Shouma-kun. I’m Sagisawa Rei. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”_ his tone was smoother than he usually let it, borderline soothing if he hadn't known any better. It shaved a layer of the overly excited edge that, probably, would’ve lead to an information overload.

“ _Hello!”_

The clouds parted once more.

“ _Eichan, c’mon and say something!”_

“ _Maybe you need to summon him?”_

“ _With an incantation?”_

A flicker of fear. No, not fear, but something equally dampening. Apprehension? Eishi rolled his eyes and was about to interject but--

“ _Eichan we need you, Eichan we need you, Eichan--”_

He felt his patience _snap._

“ _Who do you think you’re summoning like some kind of demon?”_ he demanded. A fake indignance turned his stomach.

Sagisawa laughed at his outburst, “ _He’s arrived!”_

So he had. He hummed a greeting to Shouma, allowing the leftovers of the faked ire to ebb away. The boy _gasped_ in return.

“ _Karasuma! Tsubame, Tsubame, that’s Karasuma!”_

Fondness, infectious, “ _It is!”_ she assured, “ _It is!”_

_Glee._

_Ecstasy._

_Gratitude._

But then it stopped. Abruptly. The link severed. Concern boiled in place of affection. “ _Umino, what happened?”_

“ _We’re fine, Karasuma,”_ She broadcasted through an inferno of laughter, “ _He’s looking around the room making sure you’re not here.”_

His phone buzzed with life--a message from Umino with an attachment; the little brother peering over the edge of his bed, then roaming to the closet, the space nearest the edge of her bed. Near the end of the video he looked up, a smile on his face. “Ventriloquism?” he asked, impossibly soft.

Eishi responded with an emoji, but wasn't quite paying attention. They were between bits, still poking fun at his apparent spectre status--Sagisawa teased that they needed an offering for every hour Karasuma was in attendance. They'd missed one, which meant they _owed him_ and he'd only be there a minute or two more without payment. The image Kamoda broadcasted he recognized from the horror movie they’d watched some time ago. He felt his eyes slit, his eyebrow raised. The black tuft of hair on the monster was his own.

He considered responding, but it felt off. Like it was missing one last deadpan comment before the joke was finished. He frowned around the feeling until Shouma rejoined, his voice stronger than it had been before.

Eishi focused instead on the joy he projected.

 

\--

 

It was only 10pm when Umino (Tsubame) yawned tremendously. “ _Okay,”_ she sent, a drawl to her words that hadn’t been present the last sixteen times she’d dozed mid-tweet, “ _bedtime for us.”_

Disappointment radiated from the little brother, settled heavily where once there'd been gusts of laughter. “ _Ok…”_

“ _Goodnight, Shouma-kun!”_

“ _Sleep well!”_

He grunted a pleasantry of his own, stubbornly holding his tongue.

Shouma was ignorant of the mental battle going on, the silent assault on his sensibilities in the form of his friends that Eishi endured in magnificent calm. The wordless tremble Sagisawa usually whined with. Kamoda’s prodding that spiked with increasing frequency.

A single warning would put a stop to it, he knew, but the kid deserved better than a spoonful of Death Tweet before bedtime.

His mind was set instead to ignore them, at least until Tsubame cut the link herself. But said bird began leaking droplets of disappointment, adding to the “ _Eishi please?”_ puddle of requests. He frowned.

Eishi regarded his calendar and the bird picture of the month, thinking. Summer, blackbirds over some overseas lake. The kid’s presence lingered still, a damp spot in the back of his mind. He breathed as though it was a laborious ordeal.

“ _Oh no, it appears that I didn’t get all the data this time around,”_ was he believable? He cringed at the sound of his own thoughts, “ _We’ll probably need to do this again, Shouma.”_

He waited a minute for it to sink in and was bombarded by an explosion of joy-relief-happiness when it did. “ _Really?”_ came the cautious reply.

Eishi found himself smiling, a small nick in the corner of his lips. Despite there being no one to see it, his hand cradled around his mouth. “ _If you’d like.”_

And then there was a _blitz_ of unfettered emotion, so hot he found himself wincing from it. His mind adjusted to it while the little brother continued to tatter. “ _I’d love to! Did you hear that? I can do it again sometime! Tsubame? Tsubame, did you hear?"_

“ _I heard!”_ Tsubame tweeted back. Coincidentally, the drawl had vanished from her words, “ _but only if you get to sleep right now.”_

With a scandalised gasp the presence was gone, the heat of the emotions with it. Eishi felt himself relax into the aftermath. Tsubame’s tired glee caused bubbles in his chest.

“ _What a good kid,”_ Kamoda chirped. His projection was comfortably heavy. A drape of contented lethargy, warm and safe.

A sound of affirmation from Sagisawa preceded a wave of mischief, “ _Forgot some information, Karasuma-kun?”_

This he did roll his eyes at, smiling despite himself, “ _No one’s perfect, Sagisawa,”_ he retorted, his hands busying with the page he actually had devoted to information. “ _Though--that wasn’t your normal tone you used. Trying to impress?”_

A comfortable laugh, “ _Always.”_   

Tsubame was still there, her presence light. Now came the cranial fluff that was indicative of sleep. The slow responses, the hum that replaced actual words. “ _Thanks again.”_ she said, softly, “ _it means a lot.”_

“ _Turning in early?”_

She hummed, “ _If I don't, he'll want to stay up all night. Tomorrow's busy.”_

He recalled an anxious recital of the coming day. A list of destinations from place to place. Errands--he suspected mostly busywork. Distractions.

She bid adieu to a jumble of responses. A ‘no problem’ here, an ‘anytime’ there. It left him in the company of Sagisawa and a very drowsy Kamoda.

“ _Eichan,”_ Kamoda tweeted when quiet permeated the conversation.

“ _Do your own work!"_  he snapped, as wise to it now as he was to it the first billion times. “ _There’s an entire summer to get it done. Start early.”_

Kamoda laughed, “ _Goodnight, Eichan. Goodnight Sagisawa.”_

“ _I didn't say sleep! I said--.”_ but Kamoda had departed to the land of dreams, his laughter lingering on the fringes of his mind. Eishi sighed heavily. “ _Fool,”_ he tweeted when the other had lapsed into a deep of sleep.

Sagisawa’s chuckle stole his attention. He focused on the amusement that combed through the air. He kept his tweets quiet now, careful not to wake those with better habits than he. They kept the line open until words became muddled and sleep snipped at the connection, severing it for the night.

 

\--

 

He _dared_ this to become routine.

(No, no he didn’t. He plead with his body not to take that seriously.)

But likely it already was in some irritatingly seraphic manner that he didn’t quite comprehend and couldn’t combat. The first thing he did when his eyes snapped open, introducing him to a sea of pitch black, was sigh. Because the not-routine was, as always, right on schedule and _highly_ predictable.

Like he had the night before and the night before then, Eishi rolled quietly out of bed, rearranging the pillows behind him. A juggle test said that his door hadn’t been infiltrated in the three hours he’d been sleeping. He pushed his bag in front of it anyway--just in case his mother returned early.

Prying open the window felt laborious this time and sleep still decorated the edges of his consciousness. Cold air slapped at his cheeks and Eishi found himself wanting a sweater. It would shred probably, decorate the sky with slivers of wool. He imagined picking them up afterwards would be all sorts of fun (it wouldn’t).

He took to the sky when his courage allowed him to, when his childish, needy, wings began to twitch restlessly. Not a routine then, maybe an instinct. It did nothing to make the situation any better as he took off in the direction of the Umino’s home, the third of such nights rewarding him with the revelation of proper orders of travel times.

Caution kept him out of sight when he reached, perching in a nearby tree, a natural blindspot obscured from other buildings. He tucked his wings close to him, focusing on his breathing and not the thoughts doing laps in his mind.

A few nights ago, it was enough to be able to feel for a presence from his room. The tenth night demanded more, made ravenous the fear that lay in the pit of his belly, tempting it with _what if’s_ and _how long before’s_. He felt it even now, growing hungrier by the moment. An overwhelming loneliness awaited him on the days when he ignored the urge.

 _Mother henning--_ could that be it? Or a particularly strange case of _Empty Nest_ syndrome.

It quelled, a little, when he caught the tail end of a sleep-projected murmur. Soft, quiet. The distance between their homes would’ve rendered it inaudible. _She’s here, she’s safe_ , it assured, the highest level of anxiety melting into the cool night air.

_She’s here, she’s safe._

He took this with him as he trailed to the Sagisawa’s Tower next, staying out of sight of the solemn nighttime streets. The greater part of him wanted to go home. The conditions were awful, a cloudless night with a full moon. Any person could look up and he’d be _right there_. But the burning spiked again, somehow having eaten through the reassurance of Umino and he picked up his pace. He needed to know. He _needed_ to know.

Worry froze him a moment, foretelling that he’d be found out. Sagisawa’s light shone from the outside window, and it wasn’t unheard of for the heir to stay up late, scratching away at his sketchbook. He’d been lucky in of it hadn’t been an issue thus far, but really, he should’ve seen it coming.

 _He’s here_ , he reasoned quietly, hovering, _this is enough. He’s here_. He didn’t need to go further.

 _But what if he’s gone_ , his body chirped back, frantic, _what if he’s left. Where is he?_

Stubbornness rooted him in place, even as the prickle worked its way to his throat. He breathed against it. This was enough, this would _be_ enough.

It wasn’t.

He found himself drifting closer to the mansion tower, goaded by wind and will. He lifted to the helipad, settled atop the shack there with anger and frustration as his anchors. Embarrassed weariness pulled at his eyelids while veins of electric attentiveness surged through him.

He closed his eyes, focusing once more.

For a panicked moment, there was nothing. No gentle lull, no inaudible pulses. He stood, alert, the anxious knot in his stomach exploding up to his wings. Was he right? Was something wrong? They’d only stopped tweeting hours ago--

Panic rose like a flood and Eishi was afloat before he knew it. He was right near the a window, fist coated in wingmass and lungs burning with pinprick anxiety-- when he felt it. 

A quiet beat.

Then another, and then another.

Sagisawa was asleep.

He breathed out, let the tension roll from his wings, felt for more of the timid thumps.

There they were, airy and constant. Four beats and then a pause. Four beats and then a pause. His hands found his cheeks when the wingmass had dissipated and they were very, very warm. He drifted away from the building, pausing a moment as he willed his eyes better. It tingled, a little, but the sensation passed quickly.

The nightstand nearest the window had been left on. He raised a curious eyebrow, having believed that they were some kind of ultra-fancy sort that just kind of...offed, when unneeded. Sagisawa cradled his sketchbook on crooked knees, his back against the edge of his bed.

Eishi remained for one more cycle before changing direction to Kamoda’s temple.

He rebuked himself harshly as he landed on a particularly stable bit of rooftop. It didn’t last long, and he didn’t get to the part about how this was _absolutely silly_ and he could wait until morning. Waves of warmth swathed him, as if anticipating his arrival. Of all the midnight visits, he liked Kamoda's best.  

A noise startled him and he froze. Two iridescent eyes stared at him, then two more materialised beside them. Then a purr, low, disarming. Eishi felt his guard drop. Kuu stalked forward, agile and meticulous. Nehan followed suit.

He bid them closer, shifting till he was sitting comfortably. They sat on either side of him making noises like motors in the crystal moonlight.

Some nights he didn’t need to go to Kamoda’s. Projections of the day, or of bits of his dream sufficed. They weren’t often to the level of noise his daytime tweets were; it was as if his dream-state had better vocal control than _he_ did.

Sometimes, after nights such as these, he considered telling him about his sleep projections, setting up a routine to combat them. They could be dangerous, couldn’t they? Maybe. But then they wouldn’t be here.

He banished the thought by laying back on tile, the surface hard and gritty on his back. Kuu sniffed at him, stalking the edges of his wingmass. He moved it with similar lethargy, remained stoney faced as she pawed at it experimentally. Nehan curled on his other wing.   

He felt the beast in his stomach make a muddy retreat. It’d be back, next night or the night after, but for now, he rested in the embrace of warmth.

Sometimes, he convinced himself no one was going anywhere.

Eventually the time came for him to pull away from Kamoda’s presence and he did so quickly, taking off into the sky. The last stop, he did not want to make. Not when he felt so warm, now. Not when he felt safe.

Takayama’s window was open. He knew it would be.

The light was off, the floor devoid of futon and birdman alike.

His body twitched, searching for the presence he knew was not there. The beast rumbled, awakened anew.

_Where? Not here. Where?_

He didn’t know, willed the process to go faster so he could _sleep_.

The warmth from his wings wasn’t like Umino’s, bright and exuberant. It wasn’t Sagisawa’s overly-soothing variety. It wasn’t Kamoda’s contented haze. It was uncomfortable, muddying, _maddening._

It pulsed desperately, and it took every fibre of his being to restrain the noise to a whisper. _Not here,_ it decided, taking his energy with it, _not here._

He turned against the need to stay, to wait until he came back. He flew against the urge to search, to _bring him back_ or at least to _know where he was_.

He flew into his room, into the darkness. He detransformed and put on his discarded sleepwear. He drank the cup of water he kept by his bedside, feeling parched.

He ignored the turning of his stomach as he thumbed through a pictureless book on words. When his fingers gripped too tightly on the page, and it cracked the face of the book, he put it to the side and picked up another.

He knew this routine. He could get through it.

When he became so tired that the words began to slur, he turned off his light and went to sleep.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> : /


End file.
